Friendship is Magic
by Guardian55
Summary: Sadly, when his parents died, Harry had no one else to go to apart for the Dursleys. There, until he rejoined the wizarding world and was accepted into Hogwarts, he had no friends to call his own. Except, what if that hadn't been true? What if he'd had a friend before Ron and Hermione? What if, every summer, he'd met a muggle who had - despite the oddities - been there for him?
1. Chapter One

**C****hapter One: "The Potter Boy"**

_**June 11th**__**, 1989 – A Year before Harry James Potter's Invitation to Hogwarts…**_

* * *

Over the quiet neighborhood of England known as Private Drive, dawn of another June day was currently in progress. Indeed, just like every other one before it in the past, the present summer morning of Tuesday, June 11th of the year of 1889, was casting a beautiful golden color over everything thanks to the rising of the sun from the east. In turn, with the coming of sunlight, with the warming up of all the things that had previously been chilled during last night, another usual day began to take place for the uptight community of Privet Drive; birds began singing, the time began ticking away and families began waking up to face the coming day as they saw fit.

Most of the said families of Privet Drive had an original plan or another to face the approaching summer day, of course. For instance, the men would go off to work shortly. The women would then watch over the households. And as for the children, they would play, mess around, just be children in general, naturally.

Well, most of the children of Private Drive would be children on this fine day of June 11th, anyway. That was because with all of the schools closed down for summer break, with their days free until September, with their parents allowing them some freedom, they would have the choice to do so. Yet, inside of the odd house labeled as Number Four of Privet Drive… there was a certain youth there that, like he hadn't been able to do during his eight years of being alive, wasn't going to be allowed to do as he pleased today.

No, ever since he had been reluctantly adopted as a second rate son to the infamously proper Dursleys during a rather blurry night seven years ago where he'd been – for odd enough reasons – left on their front doorstep, eight year old Harry James Potter hadn't ever been allowed to have the luxuries most kids his age were familiar with; freedom, fun, happiness as well as friendship most of all. Indeed, all during his eight years alive and under the guardianship of his Dursley relatives, Harry hadn't had many things children his age took for granted.

Truly, seeing as it'd been and was his constantly furious Uncle Vernon as well as bitter Aunt Petunia whom raised him to this very day, Harry hadn't had rather proper adult role models to follow or be at all proud of. Thanks to his bully of a cousin, Dudley, he hadn't made lasting friends, neither. Thus, with all of the Dursleys having always controlled his life in one way or another, the boy with the lightning shaped scar on his forehead hadn't had much experience with the terms like exciting, happy along with adventure. Instead, he was all too familiar with other terms like oppression, tyranny, misery and frustration.

Today, like he'd become accustomed to under the roof of his relatives since they'd reluctantly adopted him during one certain night seven years ago, Harry James Potter wouldn't be like the rest of the kids in the community during this approaching summer. No, not by his choosing, having given in to their terms long ago, he would instead be the ghost son of the Dursleys. He would not speak, he would not make trouble, he would not practically exist.

So, where the sun presently rising higher into another cloudless, baby blue morning sky of June had been a simple familiarity to the rest of Privet Drive for the last eight years, it was a familiarity to Harry when a sharp rapping of knuckles against his bedroom door – "more like his broom closet under the stairs room door" for he very much had forever and still did live in the broom closet underneath the stairway leading up to the second floor of the Dursley house – was made heard to his sleeping mind. At once, shortly after the knuckles had fiercely knocked against his bedroom/closet door outside for a long minute, Harry groggily listened to the recognizable if not scathing hiss of a voice that belonged tp his Aunt Petunia's.

"Up you!" She exclaimed from out in the hall, sounding quite hurried over something, "Up now! Wake up! NOW!"

After she'd so coldly roused him from his sleep without a hint of regret, weary Harry listened in the dark of his room as his aunt stalked off down the hallway into the kitchen. From there, the sound of a pan being placed onto the oven sounded off. In turn, there was a sizzling of something in that pan and that same something's smell was gradually recognized by Harry as he sleepily sat up in his bed to clear his half-conscious thoughts; it was the heavenly aroma of bacon.

Man, how long had it been since he'd been treated to bacon for breakfast rather than cold cereal or oatmeal? Too long. But wait… bacon was far too good a thing to spoil Harry with. That much had been agreed upon by the Dursleys long ago. Nah, the bacon had to be meant for someone else. And that certain someone else wasn't too hard a guess for Harry, even when half asleep, to make; his older cousin, Dudley.

As if she had read his mind about why she was cooking in the kitchen, Aunt Petunia hotly returned to the broom closet door where she snarled through at Harry, "Are you asleep again?"

"No, Aunt Petunia." Harry moaned back, rubbing sleep from his emerald colored eyes while also trying desperately not to lay back down to very well drift back into slumber and risk the full wrath of his already impatient aunt, "I'm not asleep. I'm awake."

"Then hurry up and get a move on!" His aunt snapped harshly, banging on the broom closet door which made Harry jump in surprise in turn, "I have bacon going in the kitchen. And don't you dare let it burn! Not today. Not on what will be my Dudder Wudder's most special day of days!"

"No, Aunt Petunia…" Harry groaned to himself in growing apprehension, now knowing why the bacon was being cooked and that was for today which was actually Dudley's – "Dudder Wudder's" – ninth birthday, "I'm coming. I won't burn the bacon."

"You're right that you won't, boy." Another recognizable voice, the taut if not tense voice of the pudgy man known as Harry's Uncle Vernon, abruptly growled from out in the hall in place of Petunia's sitting, "If you do go and try any funny business on my dearest son's birthday today… You'll not see the light of another day or have anything to eat for a whole week! You understand me?"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon. I understand." Harry obediently answered back, knowing he couldn't argue lest he wanted punishments for being somehow snippy for standing up for himself, "I'll be out in a second."

Harry hadn't needed to say he would be out in a second. For by the time he'd finished his sentence, there was no one around to hear him. Rather, his Uncle Vernon along with Aunt Petunia had gone quickly ahead into the living room to make sure all of the preparations for their favorite son were perfection because if they weren't… well, last year's little mishap with the supposedly "odd" placement of the balloons had given their precious Dudley the excuse to scream for an hour on end until he'd earned himself another three presents on his stack of thirty-five.

Mind, most parents would have not tolerated their children screaming for an hour over the littlest thing as the misplacement of the balloons on their birthdays. Yet, the Dursleys were the Dursleys and when their favorite son screamed for something then they were quick to not punish him for it… but reward him. Such was a tactic that Dudly had always exposed. Such was a tactic that Harry couldn't nor wouldn't ever hope to do. Not even during emergencies. Unless, of course, he wanted to be locked in his sad excuse of a room in the broom closet under the stairs for the rest of his whole bloody life, anyhow.

Knowing he was woken up to keep an eye on the bacon in the kitchen and not to sit in his little room moping over what today would bring his way, Harry slowly got started on the task of changing out of his pajamas and into his usual casual attire of clothing which was made up of hand me down clothes from Dudley. Mind, already being a skinny boy with unkempt, ebony black hair, grass green eyes and a pair of knobby knees, as he put on a pair of socks, pants along with a shirt that had formerly belonged to his piggy sized cousin three times bigger than him, Harry looked very much like he was drowning in his chosen set of baggy clothes when he got done dressing himself for the day.

Yet, again, after eight years of the same old thing, the boy with the lightning shaped scar on his forehead was familiar with the fact that he was doomed to wearing the hand me down, larger than large clothes of his cousin Dudley. He was used to the fact that he was, like now, woken up at the crack of dawn by the Dursleys for some selfish reason or another of theirs that involved him being something like a servant to them. He was getting familiar with the routine of looking up at the stairway that was his ceiling and seeing the cobwebs with spiders up there.

What he wasn't familiar with, though, was when the said spiders in their cobwebs were suddenly knocked down onto his face when the stairs began shaking due to some hurrying, tremendous weight running downstairs. Then, as Harry frantically brushed the scurrying arachnids off of his screwed up, dusty face, the large weight thundering downstairs paused at the bottom, predictably ran back up directly above Harry's room, then began jumping and down with wicked glee.

"WAKE UP, POTTER!" The thumping weight on the stairs above Harry, Dudley Dursley, yelled with excitement as he jumped up and down on purpose, "IT'S MY BIRTHDAY! WAKE UP!"

It was as Harry was pushing open his room door that Dudley ceased jumping up and down, raced downstairs, jumped in front of his younger cousin, roughly pushed his said cousin back inside his room, slammed the door shut, locked it and then scurried happily into the living room to his waiting parents. Meanwhile, nursing a lump on his head where he'd fallen into the side of his bed thanks to Dudley, Harry did his best to retain as much of his dignity as he could in the dusty, spider webbed darkness.

This was not the first time the Potter boy been targeted by Dudley for a stupid prank. This wasn't the first time he'd been physically hurt by Dudley. Nah, during the past eight years, he'd been tormented by his older cousin beyond count like this. Now, rubbing his head, sitting on his bed to wait for his uncle or aunt to heatedly unlock his door for him, Harry was used to his older cousin bullying him.

As sad as it was, he was used to being… the ghost of the Dursley family.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING STILL IN HERE?!" Aunt Petunia shrieked after several minutes had passed since Dudley had come downstairs, unlocking as well as wrenching the broom closet door open and waving for Harry to come out of his dark surroundings which he hurriedly did and raced down the hallway towards the kitchen with her hot on his trail, "Get in that kitchen and look after the bacon like I've told a million times and again! Be grateful that none of it has burned since you decided to be slow in getting up or it'd be your hide on that stove cooking!"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia. I know, Aunt Petunia." Harry droned like the eight year old servant to the Dursleys that he was, knowing it would not at all help him to say that it was thanks to Dudley earlier that he'd been locked in his room and not been able to cook the thankfully not burned bacon, "I'm sorry Aunt Petunia."

"We don't need your sorry, boy. What we need is our bacon!" Uncle Vernon stated from over at the table which was piled high with stacks of colorfully, organized gifts which Dudley was studying with a hungry gaze, "Hop to it! On the double! Hup hup hup, come on now!"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon." Harry said simply back to his gray haired, overlarge, beady eyed, mostly purple faced walrus of an uncle who was dressed in a fine business suit colored entirely bark brown for the day. Flipping the browned, salted, sizzling strips of pork bacon onto a plate, the Potter boy delivered the said food to his oversized if not impatient uncle, "Bacon is coming, Uncle Vernon. Here you are, Uncle Vernon."

"Hurry up with my bacon too, Potter!" Dudley – with his own blonde hair, beady eyes as well as girth – demanded next, smiling evilly at his younger cousin doggedly trying to cook bacon for everyone, "And I want twice as much as my father wanted. Remember that!"

"Hah! That's a good boy, Dudley. Go and get some meat on those bones of yours." Uncle Vernon proudly chuckled, nodding his big head in admiration, not at all paying any attention to the fact that his true son already had more than enough meat on his entire body to make up for three of the kids in Privet Drive, "Go on and eat as much as you like. Do what you will. Today is YOUR day, after all."

"That's right, my little Dudley Wudley. Today is YOUR day. It's your ninth birthday. Oh ho, ooh, it seems like only yesterday that I first looked at you nine years ago." Aunt Petunia – tall, thin, horse faced, dressed in a longer than usual Sunday dress of yellow that did not go well with her styled, brunette hair or suspicious green eyes – emotionally choked up about her favorite son, tightly hugging Dudley to herself as she thought of her first day with him as a baby, "Now here I am, dearest, nine years later… and I couldn't be any prouder of my you, little Dudley."

"Little Dudley…" Harry murmured to himself under his breath, sharply glancing at how very large Dudley truly was and how Aunt Petunia could barely get her arms around him at the moment, "He's not at all little. Are you sure he's not your… Piggy of a Dudley?"

Thinking he'd been overheard, Harry quickly looked back down at his work with his bacon when Uncle Vernon shot him a suspicious look from the dining table. Yet, the moment of tension between Potter and his Uncle Dursley passed when Dudley demanded he begin opening presents. His request was not rejected by his parents and with a feverish pace, while the morning wore on, while Harry observed with slight longing like he always had done for the last eight years, the Dursleys' favorite son opened his gifts; a number of computer games, a snap shot camera, a skateboard for who knew what reason, a bb-gun with bb pellets along with much more.

Oh joy… a bb-gun. Maybe Harry could make some pretty good guesses as for what would come from his cousin in the future but only heaven could know as to what horrors would come to Privet Drive now that Dudley had something close to a gun at his disposal.

Either way, by the time, Dudley got around to finishing un-wrapping his gifts and was teasingly if not coldly aiming his said bb gun at flinching Harry every so often, the sun had risen to its zenith in the summer sky. Noon sounded out on the Dursley living room clock in turn at which both Uncle Vernon as well as Aunt Petunia initiated stage two of their planned perfect day for the favorite son; getting rid of Harry so that the rest of the family could go into the city to a fancy restaurant for fine dining.

Where Harry was undoubtedly going to end up while the Dursleys went elsewhere to have fun on Dudley's birthday was, like everything else in his life, predictable; Mrs. Figgs's place. Mrs. Arabella Figgs was an elderly woman who, every time Harry had visited in the past or had been made to visit more like, told him the many stories of the many cats she owned. So today, all day long, while the Dursleys would eat good food somewhere in the city, Figgs would more than surely talk to Harry about her precious felines one more time.

Yet, even with all of his brooding inside himself, what other choice did Harry have at the moment other than to allow himself to be placed in Mrs. Figgs's care? He didn't, put simply. He would just have to deal with the smell of an old woman and her kitties.

"Everything is in order, Vernon." Aunt Petunia said to her husband pleasantly with the sun high in the noon sky, not at all regarding the fact that Harry was in the room listening to her every word, "Dudley is getting ready upstairs in his room. While he's doing that, you can bring this little imp to Mrs. Figgs. She's agreed to look after him while we go about celebrating our Dudder's special day."

"Naturally she will. You have a way of getting your way with Petunia, sweetness." Uncle Vernon said with a bright smile, getting up out of his seat at the table and grudgingly signaling for reluctant Harry – the "imp" – to get outside into the car to be driven to cat loving Mrs. Figgs where he would spend the rest of his day like usual, "Righty then. I'll bring the boy over to Figgs, come back for you and Dudley, and then we'll all go out and – I say… Petunia, dearest, what's going on across the street?"

* * *

_**End of Chapter One: "The Potter Boy"**_


	2. Chapter Two

**C****hapter Two: "The Newest Face to Privet Drive"**

* * *

"Righty then." Uncle Vernon said to his wife, peeking for a moment out of the living room window nearby before getting ready to get Harry into the family car outside to head to Mrs. Figgs, "I'll bring the boy over to Mrs. Figgs's, come back for you and Dudley, and then we'll all go out and – I say… Petunia, dearest, what's going on across the street?"

Wait, had Harry just heard everything right just now? Repeat, what had just been asked? Had the man of the Dursley family just seriously asked about something happening in privet Drive? Not only that but had he questioned about something transpiring across the street?

Now, even though it would seem simple to others, why was it so shocking to Harry to hear his uncle ask a simple question? Well, to have Uncle Vernon – the master of everything or so he liked to think of himself – actually ask such a question as "What's going on across the street?" was something not familiar in Number Four Private Drive. Then, as unbelievable as it was to hear from her next, Aunt Petunia herself – who prized her skills at spying unnoticed on the neighbors to the north, south, east and west of her humble abode – answered her husband's question with a honest question of her own.

"What do you mean what's going on across the street, Vernon? There isn't anything going – My word, what is happening over there?"

So, as the Dursley parents hurriedly crammed together to look outside of the living room which had always given them a perfect view of the street if not neighborhood outside, surprised Harry finally registered that this was actually happening; his pig of an Uncle Vernon as well as his horse of an Aunt Petunia had, as unbelievable as it was, fallen out of the loop on something in Privet Drive! And now, with great gusto, with much flustering, with much whispering indignantly between them, the Dursley parents were attempting to understand how they'd missed the fact that their neighbors across the street from them – the Draysons – had a… son?

"No, that can't be right, sweetness." Uncle Vernon grumbled to his wife at her guess that apparently the Drayson had a son appear out of nowhere, "For twelve years the Drayson have lived here across the street from us and not once did I ever hear Mrs. Drayson ever wanting to have a child. Being a nurse at St. Michael's, you know how she feels about births. Thanks to the patients she's treated, she's quite terrified of the idea of the pain one goes through from giving, well… birth."

"That may be true… but Vernon, there's still a boy getting out of that car with Mr. Drayson. And the hoodlum has plenty of luggage with him. Hmf, is he adopted?" Aunt Petunia grimaced, knotting and unknotting her fingers together as if the boy apparently across the street was nothing more than a ticking time bomb, "Ugh, if that's the case then you know how I am about reading other people's children, dearest. And having said that, I know for a fact that that boy with Mr. Drayson looks like trouble to me. Yes, oh yes, he most certainly does."

"I don't doubt that at all, Petunia. BAH! What the devil is happening to this neighborhood these days?" Uncle Vernon viciously growled loud enough for eavesdropping Harry to hear over by the front door who had been ready to be driven to Mrs. Figgs a moment ago before all of the excitement had begun transpiring over some new boy coming to Private Drive, "First we ourselves get landed with an imp of a boy… Now the Drayson show up with another imp? Hmf, well, you didn't have to say that the Draysons' boy was going to be trouble, Petunia. I too already knew it. Well, regardless, I don't care who he is but he will not be coming anywhere near our Dudly. Understood?"

"Heaven forbid! We don't need any ill effect on our Dudders. Well, we don't any MORE ill effects on him, anyway." Harry overheard Aunt Petunia snap in the living room meaning, clearly meaning "him" as an ill effect on Dudly, riling herself up about a boy she had not even met who had apparently arrived to the Draysons for reasons unknown moments ago, "Oh but Vernon, what do we care about what the Draysons are up to over there? We have to be getting ready for Dudley's special day. You still have to bring you-know-what to Mrs. Figgs."

"Ah, right you are, dearest." Uncle Vernon said, waddling his way from out of the living and towards the front door with his skinny wife closely trailing him, "What does it matter what the Draysons do? Let them ruin their lives however they see fit. Just so long as they don't try to ruin ours. Let them adopt a son so long as they don't bring him over here. Alright, I'm off to take the boy to – AUGH!"

Harry, having been very curious to know who was so new in town and who had the Dursleys worried, had already stepped out the front door. Not to get into the family car, mind, but to look across the street to the Draysons so that he could maybe see who the newest boy to Privet Drive was.

Was the new boy in the neighborhood younger or older than Harry? Did he have black hair too? Did he wear glasses also? There were so many questions racing through Harry's head. Ones that he would like to have answered. Yet, with an angry roar like a charging bull, Uncle Vernon – having seen Harry out in the open staring at the Draysons like some kind of zombie – moved faster than fast. In turn, he cut off Harry's investigating before anything about the new boy could be found out.

"What do you think you're doing, boy?!" Uncle Vernon hissed into Harry's face, spittle flying from his mouth, his face turning redder and redder until it looked almost ready to explode, "Getting your hopes high in attracting attention from the Draysons, eh? Trying to see if you can get their little imp of a kid over here so that you can both be imps up to no good together?"

"No." Harry replied at once, knowing that the resulting, rambling talk to come from infuriated Vernon was only his nature and such a nature was absolutely ridiculous at this moment since none of the Dursleys were good judges of character for calling anyone – especially children they didn't even know – imps, "No… I was just… curious… to see who had come to Private Drive."

"Of course you'd be curious! Of course you'd want to see the Draysons boy! That way you would be able to have him help you bring about more havoc on this house. More so than you've done for the last eight years." Uncle Vernon savagely if not crazily snarled, pushing Harry into the back seats of the car while rambling madly on to himself next as he started up the car engine, "Honestly, it's bad enough that we have you show up on our doorstep without warning seven years ago. Bad enough that I was forced to raise in your foolish parents' stead since they went and got themselves… Well, everything's bad enough without a second troublemaker coming into my HOUSE!"

Yet, as Uncle Vernon went on angrily fuming under his breath about how much work Harry had forever been and how grateful he should be for having been raised oh so well by the Dursleys for the last seven years since the mysterious demise of his parents, Harry did his best to take one last look out of the left side window of the car as it was driven past the Draysons.

Of course, having been locked in the Dursley house most of his life, the boy with the lightning scar on his forehead wasn't very familiar with the Draysons. Still, with the limited time he had to do so, Harry did his best to satisfy his curiosity. He did his best to discern who was who in the Drayson family.

Out on the front lawn of Number Five Privet Drive carrying a number of suitcases into his home, Harry saw a tall, handsome man dressed in finer than fine dress clothes of black who also sported a charming smile, sapphire eyes that shined as blue as the sky overhead and had his thick head of golden-brown hair stylishly combed to the side. This stylish man, naturally, had to be Mr. Drayson. As for a Mrs. Drayson, she wasn't out in the lawn. Thus, obviously, she had to be inside.

And as for any new boy who had taken up residence in the Drayson household, he wasn't outside either… sadly. That or he didn't come out until last second when Uncle Vernon snapped at Harry to look forward rather than back in his car seat.

"BOY! Eyes forward!" Harry's walrus of an uncle bellowed, having spotted the Potter boy scanning the Drayson household eagerly while driving by it, "NOW!"

Indeed, just as he was being yelled at by his relative to sit straight and not spy on the neighbors – HAH, how ironic it was to be told such a thing by master snooper Uncle Vernon – Harry swore he had seen someone come running out of the front door of the Drayson household. To Harry's joy, to his excitement, he had seen enough of the someone to know this as he sat down properly in his car seat; the someone was or had to be close to Harry's own age.

It was fact now. There was a new eight year old boy in Privet Drive. And although the chance of him meeting the new boy of the Draysons was slim, Harry couldn't get over a kind of unexplainable, building excitement in his stomach. He just couldn't get over the feeling that the Draysons' newest son or whoever… was going to be a good addition to the community.

"Quit smiling back there like some weirdo up to no good." Uncle Vernon snarled, having spotted the thoughtfully happy look on Harry's expression in his rearview mirror, "And if you think that you're going to have anything to do with that child moving in with the Draysons, oh ho, you've got another thing coming boy! First, today, you will be staying with Mrs. Figgs. Then, after today, you're going to be put on a leash and chain that won't let you go five feet from your bloody room without my say so!"

* * *

As it'd become customary to him like everything else in his eight year old life, Harry found that Mrs. Arabella Figgs had not changed much since the last time he'd been to her house; which had been three months ago when Dudly had – by supposed mistake – miraculously yet stupidly somehow dropped a large box of Uncle Vernon's company's prized drill prototypes from the dinner table onto himself while looking at them. In turn, with much drama, he'd needed to be brought to the hospital because his tummy was oh so badly hurt.

Well, to be honest on that day, secretly to himself, Harry might have had something to do with the drills having hurt his cousin. You see, there was a reason that the boy with the lightning shaped scar was somewhat feared along with avoided by the rest of the neighborhood. There was a reason he thought he knew was the purpose for why the Dursleys treated him like such trash almost every day. And that reason was this; he could do things without meaning to.

One would ask, what such things could he do without meaning to? Well, one time in the past, Harry had been running away from Dudley's gang at school to avoid getting beaten up by them. Yet, as he'd ran for his life, within the blink of an eye, he'd suddenly found himself up on the school roof safe as well as sound from his cousin's bewildered cronies. It was as if the wind itself had picked him up, then gently placed him down. Then, another instance where Harry couldn't explain things as Uncle Vernon had shut him angrily in the closet under the stairs, there'd been the time Aunt Petunia had sought to cut his hair rather than leave it the ruffles mess it was. The only problem was when she'd gotten done giving him a half decent haircut, Harry had awoken the next morning… to find all of his messy hair had grown back as well as looked to not have been styled at all.

Each time, every time, Harry couldn't explain things to his relatives about what had happened – such as how the prototype drills in their box had flown from the dinner table and smashed into Dudley when he'd looked to wickedly poke Harry with a spinning drill – it almost seemed like the Dursleys believed it. Yet, their reaction had always been to cover up the story, ground Harry in his pathetic room under the stairs, shout about nonsense like "There was no such thing as magic!" or "Things don't just happen without reason!" or "You tell nothing but lies!", then leave the matter in the past. Truly, each odd matter of Harry Potter's was left in the past with the Dursleys. For if one thing were said about it, oh ho, that person speaking would wish they'd never been born.

Regardless of his odd moments that couldn't be explained, since the time he'd been with her a few months ago where Dudly had been brought to the hospital due to his bad case of being "drilled" in the stomach, Harry was once again stuck in the house of Mrs. Figgs. The house that had forever smelled of cabbage, that was populated with cats, that had a style dating back to perhaps the 1800s. And whether he liked it or not, he would remain in Mrs. Figgs's guardianship for the rest of the day until the Dursleys got finished eating fancy food, buying Dudly two more presents if he fancied it along with much more that Harry could only dream of getting.

Yet, being with Arabella Figgs wasn't an all terrible experience for the boy with the lightning shaped scar on his forehead. No, she did indeed have her moments with the child. Like today, for instance. Indeed, instead of making him listen to her stories about her many fabulous cats that were sleeping, walking about, yowling, hissing, she allowed Harry to take a seat on the living room sofa, served him some rather delicious soup with a side of cookies, gave him control of the television, then vanished back into the kitchen while he somewhat enjoyed himself.

For about two hours, Harry relaxed on the living room sofa watching shows at his leisure. Back at the Dursleys, thanks to Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley always being ahead of him, he hardly ever got to watch anything he wanted. Now, though, with the sound turned down a bit so Mrs. Figgs couldn't hear as well as scold him about how he was too young to watch, here he was eagerly watching James Bond engage bad guys in serious car chases, large explosions, attract beautiful women and fire his gun like the pro he was.

And it seemed funny to Harry but it looked like almost every one of James Bond's stories, a lot of them anyway, took place in the United States of America. Hah, that place was always in need of a dashing, intelligent, lady killer spy. The politics there must've been horrible there to have so many evil, multi-billionaire, heartless villains for the international spy to defeat every time. That or he was over in Russia, foiling the plans of some big time, industrial genius in possession of dozens of nukes which he was going to use to hold the world at ransom if not start World War Three.

Soon enough though, the antics along with heroics of James Bond were lost upon Harry for he was not focused on watching television anymore. Rather, with his soup and cookies eaten, with the TV showing gunfights still, he had taken to thinking over something else intently; the Draysons' new son, Privet Drive's newest addition to the neighborhood. Honestly, although he knew the chance of him getting to know the new kid in town was slim, the boy with the lightning shaped scar was just too curious to not think about the Draysons' youth. For Pete's sake, where every other kid lived far away, the new kid lived right across the street from the Dursleys! And not only that, how had he arrived without the all-knowing Dursleys having known until last second? That'd been quite the accomplishment.

With the Dursleys gone into town, being with Mrs. Figgs, Harry's opportunity to maybe see if not meet the Draysons' son or whoever before hearing about his odd reputation was higher than before. For if the Draysons' kid heard about Harry's weird reputation from the neighborhood before meeting him then there would be no chance of them meeting. No, like the rest of the children anywhere nearby, to avoid getting into unexplainable situations, to avoid any mishaps with Dudley's gang of bullies who targeted Harry on a regular basis, the new kid of Privet Drive would avoid the boy with the lightning shaped scar as if he were the plague.

Still, if he was going to say hi or anything to the new boy in the neighborhood… Harry needed an excuse to leave the house he was currently in. Maybe he could say to Mrs. Figgs that he needed to take a walk? Yeah, he needed some fresh air. That was regular, even for him. No odd happenings or unexplainable flying objects attached.

Yet, just as he was about to get up off of the sofa to tell Mrs. Figgs he needed to take a stroll for some fresh air while secretly planning to go to the Draysons and get back here quickly, Harry heard the doorbell ring. In confusion, as Mrs. Figgs made her way slowly to the front door, he wondered if the Dursleys had come back early to stop his schemes of meeting the Draysons' kid. But no… they hadn't been gone for more than several hours. It was just past two in the afternoon. They wouldn't be back for Harry – the wart of their lives – until sunset or later.

So who was it the Mrs. Figgs was greeting with much joyous laughing at the door? Who was it that had come to visit?

"Hello, Arabella. Sorry to drop in without warning like this." A woman's voice rang merrily from the front door into the living room where Harry stood listening curiously, "But you know me. I always have a reason for everything I do, you know. Here. I come bearing your favorite oatmeal and chocolate chip cookies."

"Ha ha, splendid of you to do, Dorothy. Honestly, you're spoiling me with all of these cookies of yours. Soon enough, I'm going to die from an overdose on sugars. That or jealousy. You know, I can't quite bake these sweets like you do. You have to tell me your secret." Mrs. Figgs laughed to the other woman who had come to visit, Dorothy it seemed, "I suppose these cookies will be for your upcoming charity at St. Michaels, hm? And here you want me to taste test them?"

"Heh, you see right through me these days, Arabella. Yes, those cookies are the ones I'm going to be bringing to the approaching charity at St. Michaels. The donations will be used to help children pay for their medical bills there."

"Well, with the way your cookies are, I wouldn't be surprised if many kids in your hospital had all of their bills paid for on the spot. Truly, Dorothy, you have a way with cookies. These are quite wonderful. But here I am paying more attention to your sweets rather than your little one here. Who have you brought along with you?"

"Oh yes. Arabella, this here is my sister's son, August Cousiteau, from America. Myself and Daniel will be taking care of him during the summer."

"Your sister's son, you say? My, my, what a handsome lad, you are. Uh, and just where is it you're from in America?"

"I'm from the Great Lakes state of Michigan, thank you very much, ma'am." A confident, very young voice of a boy said from the front door, making Harry even more curious as to whom was visiting, "And where I may be handsome you do not look bad yourself."

"He is PRECIOUS, Dorothy! Thank you, boy – er, I mean August." Mrs. Figgs exclaimed, taking the young boy's, August's, compliment very well, "You're from Michigan, you say? Can't say that I've been there myself. Still, I do hear that the lakes look quite beautiful this time of year. Is that not true?"

"It's true. The Great Lakes State is best when the summer tidings come knocking." August explained, sounding very happy speaking about his home in the USA, "That's because there are so many lakes to jump into when the weather gets to be a bit too hot. Like now."

"Well, I apologize that we English types don't have a great lake sitting around for you to hop into." Mrs. Figgs laughed, "But that's alright. The last time I checked with your aunt and uncle, they said they had a pool in their backyard. So you won't roast too bad during your summer here in England, August."

"I don't really roast, ma'am. I more tan, if you will."

"Do you? Why yes, look at how brown you are. No sun burn on you. He's too adorable, Dorothy. Oh look at me making you both stand outside. Would you like to come in?"

"Yes, actually. You see, I have something to tell you, Arabella. I came here with August to say that he will be your aid during his summer here with my husband and me. Truly, my nephew here would be more than willing to help you in any way you need. So be it with your garden or cats or anything at all, August will do it with you. He prides himself on his work. You only have to ask him for help."

"I only have to ask, you say? Is that so?" Mrs. Figgs wondered aloud, "Well, it just so happens that I may have something that you can help me with today at this very moment, August. Well, it's not really a something but more a someone."

There was a pause of what seemed to be thoughtful silence at the front door. Then, August wondered politely, "Uh, sure. Yeah, I'm up for it. You said it was a someone not a something you needed help with though, right?"

"That's correct, dearest. You heard correctly." Mrs. Arabella Figgs said, chuckling good naturedly in turn, "Harry? Harry Potter? Come and meet our guests."

Harry didn't exactly register when his name was called by Mrs. Figgs. He rather kind of stood stupidly in the middle of the living room not knowing what was going on. Then, with a shaking of his head, with a brushing off of his clothing, with a calm breath to himself, the boy with the lightning shaped scar strolled as boldly as he could from his place at the sofa and towards the front door in silence. Next moment, before he knew it, he was at Mrs. Figgs side who was introducing him to her guests; an older woman and a boy about Harry's age.

Although an older woman perhaps in her mid-forties, Dorothy didn't exactly look her age. Not when she had obviously gone out of her way to look good for her visit with Mrs. Figgs. At the moment, she was formerly dressed in a body length, regal white dressed speckled with a spring leaf green shade all over. Her ebony black hair was pulled back into a stylish bun. And where her happily smiling expression was very smooth, her eyes shined behind her square spectacles as blue as the summer sky being illuminated by the sun outside.

Then there was Dorothy's nephew, the other eight year old boy in the room apart for Harry himself, August Cousiteau. Expect, having had his story already explained by his aunt minutes ago, Harry was aware that the other kid present wasn't just a simple kid. No, he was August Cousiteau of Michigan of the USA visiting England for the summer. And now that he thought about it, how funny if not curious this situation was turning out to be for the Potter boy. No more than a little bit ago, he'd been watching James Bond adventuring in America in the living room. Now, here was actually meeting an actual factual American boy.

Still, although from the United States of America, August honestly didn't look to be that much different from any other children Harry knew in his school or the neighborhood of Privet Drive. Sure, the American youth had a distinct accent that was sure to stick out like a sore thumb during his stay in England. On a side note, if he and his bully gang found out, Dudley as well as his buddies would be sure to try to traumatize the American because of his way of talking.

Yet, concerning August, traumatizing was the last thing Harry had on his mind. Truly, he was very pleased to finally meet some new people who were not intimidated by his supposedly grim reputation. To be fully honest, both Dorothy as well as August seemed to have not known who Harry was before he'd shown himself after Mrs. Figgs's announcement of him. So, wanting to make a great first impression, knowing it wasn't every day he would get to meet an American, the boy with the lightning shaped scar held out his hand in friendship to both of Mrs. Figgs smiling guests.

"A pleasure to meet you." He said, putting on what he hoped was his best attempt at a smile.

"Likewise." August immediately replied, shaking Harry's hand respectfully. Even though eight years old, Harry seemed to already know that the American youth had a knack or maybe even a gift for talking, acting along with behaving like something of a gentleman. Maybe that was due to the adults present?

"So your name is Harry Potter?" Dorothy inquired curiously, giving Harry a warm smile as she shook his hand, "How very curious. I don't believe I've heard of any Potters in Privet Drive. Do you live elsewhere than here, dear? Arabella, is this boy already kind of an aid to you for the summer?"

"Oh no, Dorothy. Harry isn't my aid. August can still have that job if he's up to it, don't worry." Mrs. Figgs chuckled, smiling sweetly with a fun sparkle in her eyes as she waved away her guest's curious words, "No, Harry is spending the day with me until the Dursleys come back to pick him up later. They're out celebrating their son's, Dudley's, ninth birthday in the city, you see."

"Is that so? So then… You mean to say that this boy, Mr. Potter here, lives with the Dursleys?" Dorothy asked, sounding even more interested in Harry than before, "Do you live with that man, Vernon, and his wife, Petunia, Harry?"

"That's correct." Mrs. Arabella Figgs answered for Harry as he was about to speak, nodding her head sagely, "Harry's lived with them for the last seven years."

"I see. Then you're the adopted son of the Dursleys?" Dorothy wondered to Harry, looking thoughtful, "You've been with them for the last seven years?"

"Yes." Harry and Mrs. Figgs said together at the same time.

"I knew it." Dorothy abruptly said mostly to herself, nodding her head for her own reasons, "Both myself and Daniel… We've always known it.

At this, there was a long moment of quiet shared between everyone at the front. This felt like no ordinary quiet, mind, for Harry observed how Dorothy looked suddenly very lost in thought over something that more than likely concerned him, August watched his aunt and Mrs. Figgs remained silent to herself. Finally, the American youth broke the silence when he questioned his aunt, "Aunt Dorothy? Is something wrong?"

"No, August. Nothing is wrong. Just surprising." Dorothy admitted, focusing onto Harry next minute with a most generous smile on her gentle face, "I'm sorry to have met you for the first time like this, Harry. It's very not neighborly of me and my husband where we're concerned. I mean, myself and Daniel have seen you every so often from across the street but we've never contacted you or even said hi. At some moments, with the way the Dursleys have behaved with you for the last seven years, my husband and I sometimes wondered if you even existed. Seeing as you're indoors all of the time, we could never really get a good look at you. But now I see that you are quite real. What a relief it will be for me to tell Daniel about you having been here today."

Harry didn't really know what to say to this. It sounded very much like Dorothy had known him for a very long time; for seven years, since he'd gotten to Privet Drive, to be precise. Yet, where she knew him it seemed, it pained him that he didn't know her. And he was very keen to know the answers as to why it felt like this Dorothy woman had been looking to make as good a first impression on him as he wanted to make on her at the moment.

"I'm sorry." He said to concerned Dorothy, truly meaning it, "But… Have we met before now? Who are you? You live across the street from me? From the Dursleys?"

"Yes. Yes, Dorothy and her husband, Daniel, do live just across the street from you, Harry. They've lived across from the Dursleys for the past twelve years in fact." Mrs. Figgs chipped in, nodding knowingly to curious Harry, "Ah, here let me fill you in on who our guests. Hah, I should have gotten this done from the beginning before we all got to chatting like chickens in a coop. Harry, meet Dorothy Drayson and her nephew, August Cousiteau, visiting from America."

No way. There was no freaking way Harry had just heard correctly what Mrs. Arabella Figgs had just announced. Not at any time, not even during the direst situation, had luck ever come to Harry during his seven years of having lived under the Dursleys' roof. Yet now, when he had wanted something to work out the most for him today, here Harry didn't need to work on a scheme for trying to go to the Draysons to see the newest kid in Privet Drive. For here at Mrs. Figgs's front door, as unbelievable as it was for him, despite the chances of it having happened, was Mrs. Dorothy Drayson with her nephew, August Cousiteau, the newest kid in town.

For the very first time in his life – well, maybe not the first time but for another rare time in his eight year old life, Harry was actually looking forward to the rest of the day. Yes, he was very eager to see what experiences he would feel during the next series of hours to come.


	3. Chapter Three

**C****hapter Three: "Opening Up"**

* * *

During the next hour in Mrs. Figgs's household, several things happened for Harry. Firstly, seated at the kitchen table with the rest of his interested company, he got to eat a decent few of the oatmeal and chocolate chip cookies that Mrs. Drayson had brought over. Then, secondly, as he drank a nice sized glass of milk to wash the treats down, Harry was politely questioned about his past life with the Dursley family. Some things he openly talked about. Other things, though, like Uncle Vernon's yelling, Aunt Petunia's snarling and Dudley's bullying, took him some encouragement from his fellow listeners to go on speaking.

No matter how good he felt about them listening to his troubles, Harry knew very well that it was a bad idea for him to be talking badly about his relatives behind their backs. For where he'd spoken ill of the Dursleys behind their backs in the past, they'd somehow found out about it one way or the other as well as locked him up in his room under the stairs for months on end. Nevertheless, for another odd reason that he couldn't explain, the boy with the lightning shaped scar felt very much like… he was actually talking to people who were concerned about him; who wanted to hear his side of the story rather than from any of the Dursleys.

Truly, as Harry went on honestly discussing with his fellows at the dinner table in Mrs. Figgs's organized kitchen, Mrs. Drayson looked the most eager to catch every single one of his words. It was almost like she cared about what he had to say about everything. Then, whenever he would quiet down, whenever he would feel he was going to maybe get in trouble with his relatives, Dorothy would reach across the table, tenderly squeeze Harry's hand with her own in reassurance, motherly smile, give him another cookie to munch on and say that he could keep going at his own pace. No one was rushing him for anything.

Even August, although eight years old, seemed to find Harry's life with the Dursleys concerning. At hearing about Dudley's gang of bullies, the American youth grimly chipped in, "And you let him do that to you, Harry? You get chased by your cousin and his gang all of the time and his parents do nothing to stop it?"

No. No, in a large or small form, Harry had never received help of any kind from the Dursleys during his past seven years with them since his parents had died in a car crash during a certain night. For where Dudley Dursley was a Dursley, Harry Potter was a, well, Potter. And in his mind, hell would sooner freeze over before Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia took his side against their own picture perfect, flesh and blood, supposedly innocent soul of a son.

It was at this point that the conversation took an interesting turn for Harry. For next, he came to find out a bit more as to why Mrs. Drayson seemed to know him a better than everyone else in Private Drive. Why she and her husband, Daniel, did know him better than most everyone else was because they'd always lived across the street from him. Even on the night – a peculiar night where flocks of owls had flown through the sky, stars had fallen from the heavens and curious people everywhere had been wearing robes of all sorts in England – he'd been brought to the Dursley's front doorstep, mind, and they had seen him put there by three strangers. Stranger's that'd been donned in cloaks.

Still, before his arrival into his relatives' household, Harry came to discover that the Draysons had lived across the street from the Dursleys for twelve years. And to the honest to goodness truth, as Mrs. Drayson unflinchingly began to negatively describe them bitterly, as she began to talk with Mrs. Figgs about their rude behavior, Dorothy as well as her spouse had never liked the Dursleys… because the Dursleys never liked anyone else but themselves.

How very true that statement was.

Harry, who had spent his life with the Dursleys, knew for sure that Mrs. Drayson spoke the truth about how his Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia as well as cousin Dudley, never giving anyone outside of their bloodline an inch. Then, as Mrs. Drayson went on talking about her last twelve years of having dealt with the Dursley's two faced nature, of having noticed Aunt Petunia peeking out the window like a policeman was after her, of having watched Dudley be pampered into the spoiled boy he was today, Harry realized something.

Despite their attempts at not doing so, the Dursleys had gained themselves quite a number of enemies in the neighborhood. The most influential of these enemies against them happened to be the Draysons themselves. And HECK, seeing as he liked Mrs. Drayson already and she liked him, Harry didn't at all mind that. In fact, seeing as they'd always did so to other folks without even getting to know them beforehand, it was about time that Uncle Vernon as well as Aunt Petunia had someone stepping on their toes for a change.

"Ah, forgive me, Harry, dearest. How terrible it is for me to speak so openly about your relatives like this. It's just after all that you've told me that they've done to you for the last seven years… I'm shocked you haven't called the police or anyone for some help." Mrs. Draysons finally got around to admitting, getting control of herself as well as her bitter thoughts about the Dursleys, "Is there a reason for why you haven't contacted the police?"

"What good would it do?" Harry replied, shrugging his arms honestly, "I've thought about it, yeah. But…"

"Imagine an eight year old boy like me suddenly calling the cops on you and Uncle Daniel, Aunt Dorothy." August suddenly put in, revealing just how in touch with the situation he was, "Do you really think that the police would take me seriously? A little kid?"

"No. It would all depend on the amount of evidence you would have at the moment, August." Dorothy said back, nodding her head at her nephew's words, "In Harry's case, though, seeing as I know the Dursleys so well, I believe he would have a decent chance of having the police on his side against the Dursleys. I mean, for goodness sakes, Arabella, why didn't you ever say anything to me about this? They have him living under the stairs in the broom closet! It's like he doesn't even exist in their eyes."

"I never told you because I knew this was how you would take it, Dorothy. It's none of our affair. Or, better put, it hasn't been until this point at time. Not until you brought young August here today, anyway." Mrs. Figgs explained, patting Dorothy on the shoulder to calm her down, "Listen, Harry's only family in England is with the Dursleys. When his parents died seven years ago, as cruel as it sounds, he had nowhere else to go but to them. And if he calls the police or anything, if he does get taken away from the Dursleys… do you really think an orphanage will treat him any better?"

There was a deep silence where everyone in the room knew that an orphanage, no matter how grand in description, was no good way for any child in the world to grow up. For in an orphanage, although he was used to it already, Harry would have to grow up on his own without anyone there for him.

"Hmf. Look at me. Jumping to conclusions like usual without giving anything some thought in the slightest. Yes, I would have Harry call the police and he, in turn, would get put in a place perhaps more vile than the Dursley house." Mrs. Drayson chuckled dully, shaking her head at her own rushed decisions, "Thank you for steering me onto the right path, Arabella. Still, you mentioned Harry's business wasn't our concern until I brought August here with me. What are you planning?"

"Oh, just something nice that both of these boys will more than likely have no problem with in the slightest." Mrs. Arabella Figgs declared, a devious twinkle shining in her eyes, "After all, you said that your nephew, August, was to be my aid for the summer? Well, getting back to what I want him to help me with today, I want him to go outside with Harry. We've chattered enough with them both in the room with us, Dorothy. Let's let the kids go play for a bit."

"Awesome!" August yelled next, rocketing out of his chair, running out the front door, racing back inside with a soccer ball cradled in the nook of his arm and then asking quickly, "Uh, Mrs. Figgs, my aunt said that you have a backyard. You do have one, right?"

"Of course. Just head down that hall over there and you'll come across the slider leading outdoors."

"Great!" August exclaimed, running down the hall then coming back for unsure Harry when he hadn't tagged along, "C'mon, Harry. You heard the adults. Let's go outside and get some fresh air. Have you ever played soccer before?"

"Uh, no?" Harry truthfully answered, feeling a bit dumb that this was in fact going to actually be his first time having someone else to play with apart for Dudley, "Sorry. I'm not going to be very good."

"You won't know until you try, dude." The American boy said to the lightning scarred one, grabbing a hold of Harry's shoulder and quickly pushing him down the hall, "Don't worry. I won't be too hard on you. In fact, I'll be the coach and you can be the player! Hey, yeah. How about I teach you how to play? How does that sound?"

"It sounds great." Harry admitted, feeling a bit excited to see that August wasn't annoyed by the fact that he wasn't going to be good at soccer but was going to be helped to get better instead, "Seriously, that sounds awesome. Thanks."

And as the back door of the house leading outside shut, as the sounds of August and Harry's voices were lost to their ears, the adults sitting back at the kitchen table looked to one another with the biggest of smiles on their expressions.

"Ah, I see what your plan is, Arabella. I'm very happy that you have an idea of how to use my sister's son to help you." Mrs. Drayson admitted, taking an oatmeal-chocolate chip cookie to nibble on meanwhile, "Well, it's not really you that my nephew, August, is going to be helping during the summer, is it?"

"No. I may ask for your nephew's help here and there during the summer, mind." Mrs. Figgs admitted, getting herself a cookie to enjoy, "But for the most part, I want Harry to be helped. I want him to finally have someone to rely on. I want August to help Harry grow up. And you as well as Daniel can take part in the effort if you so feel inclined."

"Of course, August will help Harry. He has a gift for helping people, Arabella, just you watch. And Daniel and I would be more than happy to make a friend out of Harry Potter too. We've always wanted to show him what a proper family is like compared to the Dursleys." Dorothy explained, smiling to herself, "Speaking of the Dursleys… They'll no doubt have some kind of problem with Harry being with another family."

"And what will they do? Call the police on you and Daniel for stealing their son who happens to live under their stairs?" Arabella laughed aloud.

"No. They'll complain. They'll bicker. They'll whine. Yet, they won't call the police. Instead, they'll drive Harry right into my family's arms." Mrs. Drayson simply stated, shrugging with a happy smile on her face, "And when they do that, when they let Harry come to our household whenever he please, well, I might just give them a platter of these cookies as thanks."

"Are you sure about that?" Arabella wondered curiously, looking at the tray of fabulous cookies on the table, "Are you sure the Dursleys are so deserving of a grand gift like your cookies, Dorothy, dear?"

"Oh, quit it, Arabella. Honestly, you're as bad as Daniel sometimes." Mrs. Drayson chuckled, "Either way, whether the Dursleys accept my cookies or not, it's the thought that counts, you know."


	4. Chapter Four

**C****hapter Four: "Playing Soccer, Having Fun"**

* * *

Again, before he was now doing so with August in Mrs. Figgs's backyard in the shade of the only tree there, Harry had played the sport of soccer a few times in his life. And never during any of those few times had he been given the chance of dribbling, shooting along with just having a chance to have the soccer ball. Not when Dudley had had his way every time, anyway, which had basically been him being the shooter while Harry had been the goalie.

Actually, scratch that. Dudley had been the shooter while Harry had been his dummy for target practice. In the meanwhile, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had praised their son's every shot while having grimaced at their adopted son's every block.

Yet, that had all been in the past, hadn't it? Why was the boy with the lightning shaped scar dwelling on anything that had to do with his relatives at the moment? What, because he'd played a few games of soccer in their presence? Well, today, Harry was his own boss. He was allowed to have the time of his life if he so pleased. He didn't have to worry about Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia scolding him for having stopped one of spoiled Dudley's shots. Rather, every time he happened to block one of August's well aimed soccer kicks every so often, Harry impressed his opponent.

Mind, only having had his piggy cousin to ever play with during his lifetime, Harry hadn't played enough soccer in his life to be a pro at the sport. Also, on a side note, he was only eight years old. Still, as they'd set up the makeshift game in the backyard an hour ago after having followed the adults' advice to get some fresh air, Harry was constantly told by August that he was doing fine at being a goalie. Better than most other children he knew back in Michigan, anyhow. Harry was able to at least block every one out of three of the shots the American boy made when they were both prepared to play.

"Okay, this will be my last shot, Harry. I think you've had enough of being the goalie, right? Right." August announced finally, laughing at the honest look of relief on the English boy's expression at the news, "Next, I'll be goalie while you shoot, okay?"

"Okay." Harry replied, firmly getting ready to block what was going to be his companion's final shot, "I'm going to block this one, you know. If it's your last one, I HAVE to block it. That'd be a good finish for me."

"If you say so." August chuckled back, winding up for his last performance in the meantime, "That actually would be a good finish for you. But you've been doing good so far, Harry. It's not like you haven't blocked any of my shots. You got several."

Since they'd left Mrs. Figgs's house and come outside to play some ball, Harry had to admit it; he was coming to like August. Truly, despite the fact that the two of them were from different countries, even though they'd been separated by the whole Atlantic Ocean during their lifetimes until now, the boy with the lightning shaped scar could feel that things were very much working between himself as well as the American youth who had proven to be nothing but friendly, encouraging along with optimistic this whole time. Not only that, it was clear that August had a knack for playing the sport of soccer. All of the time he'd been shooter, he'd shown off some pretty impressive footwork to Harry before having shot.

Maybe he played the sport back in America? He had to have some past experience to be able to do what he did next which was, with a good humored laugh, dribble the soccer ball between his feet, wing it up into the air with the tip of his shoe, bounce the airborne ball on his head, then blast the said ball with all of his might. The only issue with the entire performance was that when August made his kick… it rocketed straight into the left side goal post – the birdbath – and bounced straight for Harry's face!

"HARRY!" August instantly yelped, "DUCK!"

Yet, there was no time for that. In fact, by the time fretting August had finished yelling, everything had happened already. Mind, by everything had already happened, no one had gotten hurt. No, instead, although the American boy hadn't exactly seen it when it'd occurred seconds ago, the Potter boy had experienced another one of his weird – perhaps "magical" – moments.

As it'd been explained for him beforehand, in his past, Harry was aware that he was prone to experiencing odd situations where he could make things move without trying or make himself fly without knowing. Well, in Mrs. Figgs's backyard, with the soccer ball flying speedily if not viciously for his astounded face, another such odd situation had happened. Where he very well should have been laid flat by the ball zipping towards him, Harry instead found that time itself seemed to slow down. In fact, as he'd put his arms up to avoid being hit, the soccer ball altogether had… frozen in midair?

Truly, as his shocked eyes were glued to it all the while he'd put his hands up so as to not get creamed by it, the soccer ball had – as if by his command or will or maybe fear – stopped in midair. Then, when he was clear of danger, as if sensing he had his hands up to receive it, the said ball shot off again into Harry's palms, knocked him off of his feet, then remained clutched tightly in his shaking fingers as August came running up to see if everything was alright.

"Harry?!" The American exclaimed, looking quite ashamed about what had happened and not at all aware of the miraculous moment that had taken place, "Are you alright, dude? How did you even catch that? That was crazy! I didn't hurt you, did I? I never meant for any of that to happen-"

"I caught it." Harry abruptly cut in, feeling a bit pleased with himself at the realization he'd caught his opponent's rather tricky last shot, "Look. I'm okay."

"Are you sure you're okay?" August wondered worriedly, looking from Harry to the ball clutched in his hands. When Harry nodded along with began laughing, August couldn't help but join in. He sat down with the English boy as he admitted eagerly, feeling great that no one had gotten hurt because of his showing off, "Man, that's good. Sorry about that, Harry. I was trying something out that I've been trying to perfect back home in Michigan. I've got all of the dribbling and such down. However, as you just saw, my aim isn't spot on."

"Ha ha, it looked rather good anyway." Harry put in, wanting to encourage the American for a change, "I'm just glad that bird feeder got the brunt of your kick rather than me."

"Right?"

"Right. So then, August, you play soccer back home in America?"

"A bit. Not enough to excel but enough to play fine. I've played since I was six for my dad's team. He coaches the Yellow Jackets. We wear black and yellow, like hornets." August laughed aloud, patting his fellow kid on the back, "Anyhow, enough about that. Like you said, you caught my last shot, Harry. How you did is beyond me but nice going. You had some wicked reflexes to have been able to keep my ball from having smashed your glasses into your eyes… Ugh, sorry about that again, Harry. You know I didn't mean to try to hurt you, don't you?"

"Yeah. It's okay, August. Mistakes happen." The English boy said to the American, seeing that August was very serious about being sorry for the trouble, "Now if you were my cousin, Dudley, I'd question your apology. In fact, I wouldn't believe it for a second."

"Why is that? I mean, is your cousin really… THAT bad to you, dude?"

"Yeah. My cousin and I have played a few games of soccer before in the past. But where you shot now and didn't even mean to try to hit me, Dudley always tries to shoot for me. I'm always target practice in some way to him."

At the revealed news of how crude Dudley could be, there was a silence shared between the boys in Mrs. Figgs's backyard. Harry felt a bit awkward for having said such things to August who he'd only met several hours ago. The American wasn't ready for or wasn't interested in such dramatics as that perhaps? Next moment thought, the lightning scarred boy felt a bit surprised when August growled his opinion of Dudley.

"Your cousin sounds like a total blockhead, Harry. How nice. I'll be living across the street from a blockhead for the rest of the summer. One who will probably be coming after me with his gang, no doubt. Still, at least I don't live with him. I'll have some way to escape. What about you, though? How do you let him and his gang treat you like you're nothing?"

"Do you think I have any other choice?" Harry wondered in reply, shrugging to himself modestly after having asked the same question for the last seven years, "The Dursleys are my only family. Their home is my home. I've thought about running away but… where would I go after that?"

"You could have gone to my aunt and uncle, couldn't you? If my Aunt Dorothy has been so interested in you then so has been my Uncle Daniel." August asked curiously.

"I never knew your aunt and uncle until today, August. And that was only by chance. The Dursleys… They…"

"Right, right, right." August sighed, shaking his head, "They've kept you living in a closet underneath the stairs. What a bunch of crap. What a load. I never would have guessed any of that would have been here in lovely, organized Privet Drive."

"No one does guess that kind of thing happens to me. Everyone in this neighborhood is too busy focusing on themselves."

"My aunt and uncle aren't that way, Harry. They're awesome. They pay attention to peoples' troubles." August put in, sounding hopeful, "Especially to kids' troubles. It's part of their jobs in life."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, yeah, my Uncle Daniel and Aunt Dorothy work at the Saint Michael's Hospital in the city. My uncle is a host and my aunt is a nurse. They're all into being caught up on gossip, on raising fundraisers for the needy, on keeping everyone's spirits up when times look bad! Well, you, Harry, are just the kind of patient my relatives love most. Seriously, dude, you listened to my aunt rave about your relatives, right? When my aunt gets like that, my uncle does too. And when they get like that, they come up with a plan. And Harry, trust me, my relatives' plans always work out. Even the one they'll make up for you!"

"Your aunt and uncle will make up a plan for me?"

"Of course, they will! That or I will." August declared, smiling broadly at suddenly hopeful Harry, "Honestly, your relatives suck, Harry. They have you living in closet, your cousin bullies you, your parental examples don't listen to anything you have to say but rather want it to seem like you don't exist… My aunt and uncle won't stand for it. Now that they know what your life is like across the street from them, they're going to do something about it. And I'll get to be part of it all summer. Just you wait and see."

Again, after having discussed Harry's possible future, after having gone over how Mr. and Mrs. Drayson were going to do something about the way the Dursleys did things, there was a silence shared between the boys in Mrs. Figgs's backyard. Mind, this wasn't a solemn silence like the one beforehand. No, this one shined with optimism as well as hope. And it only got better with what the boys had to say to each other next.

"Harry? Is your name really Harry Potter?"

"Uh, yes?"

"Do you get told that your name sounds funny?"

"Er… Yeah, actually."

"So do I. C'mon, August Cousiteau sounds funny, doesn't it?"

"Heh, um, yes? Alright, ha ha, it does."

"Jerk."

"What? But you just said yourself-"

"I'm joking, I'm joking! Ha ha. Alright, look, Harry. The way I see it, I'm going to be here for the summer. I'm from out of town so I don't really think I'm going to make many friends here. So, seeing as we're both going to be considered weird by the neighborhood during the summer, seeing as we both have weird names, how about you and I… be friends?"

"You want to be friends? With me?"

"No, with the bird bath behind you. Yes, you, Harry! DUH!"

"I… Yeah! Sure. But the Dursleys-"

"Don't worry about your dumb ol' relatives, Harry." August stated determinedly, standing up suddenly with the soccer ball in the crook of his arm and pulling Harry up off the ground with a gentle smile, "My uncle and aunt will deal with yours fair and square. And by the summer's end, you and I will be spending every day together. We might even be bullying Dudley and his gang by then, eh?"

"You think so?" Harry wondered simply, not knowing what to think but be happy now.

"I know so, buddy." The American youth laughed, passing Harry the ball next moment, "Now come on. We still got some time left to have you shoot a few while I be goalie. And then when we get done with that, heh, I'm going to ask Aunt Dorothy to let you come stay at our house until the Dursleys come get you later tonight. Awesome, right?"

"AWESOME!" Harry laughed aloud, bursting with optimism as well as excitement as he began to play soccer with his newest friend in life, "You really mean it? You really want to invite me over to your house?"

"Well, it's not MY house. It's my aunt and uncle's." August explained matter of fact like, blocking a shot here and missing one there with a chuckle, "But yeah, dude, I want you to come over. Not just me either. My aunt and uncle are interested in you, remember? They'll want you to come over too. We'll show you a good time."


	5. Chapter Five

**C****hapter Five: "Start of a Grand Friendship"**

* * *

To Harry's astonishment if not joy, it eventually turned out that August's voiced confidence in his relatives was correct. For while they went back to playing soccer in the backyard, while the lightning shaped scarred boy was shooting goals against the American, it was only several minutes later after they'd discussed the possibility of it happening that Mrs. Dorothy Drayson – accompanied by Mrs. Figgs – came outside to say something that made both children laugh with excitement; Harry was going to spend the remainder of his day waiting for the Dursleys at the Draysons' abode.

In other words, rather than be kept any longer by Mrs. Figgs who didn't really have much to entertain him with, as August had told him would happen now that he'd revealed his past, Harry's day was bound to go from good to great to perhaps perfect. Truly, even though he'd pinched himself numerous times to see if he was dreaming, the Potter boy couldn't believe what he was hearing let alone what was happening to him. For the very first time in his life, he was going somewhere he WANTED to go. And there was going to be no catches about where he was going either. He wasn't going to have to watch out for Dudley's bullies or act like he wasn't there in the eyes of his Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia.

No, this time, for sure, with kind hearted people encouraging him to grab whatever he'd brought to Mrs. Figgs's home earlier, Harry was going to have a good time at a friend's house; August's house! Well, not his house exactly, of course. It was the Draysons' house. Either way, though, Harry knew what he meant what he thought; he knew it as where he'd be hanging out for the rest of the day with his newest, encouraging friend in life who had finally shown himself all the way from freaking America across the Atlantic Ocean.

Hah, to think that the first friend Harry had made was from the USA. Not that he was complaining about where August was from, mind. He was more than happy to have met the American youth in Privet Drive. He was thrilled to know the same American youth would be around all summer. Yet, that was just it. It was like in some weird way or another, thanks to the Dursleys, Harry was doomed not to make friends in his local neighborhood. Rather, he was going to have to settle with gaining friends from other places in the world, from OTHER worlds almost.

"Hey, Harry, don't be a slowpoke, buddy!" August exclaimed suddenly across Harry's thoughts, running into the living to help get the few things the English boy had brought to Mrs. Figgs's , "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon! You have to come over to my aunt and uncle's. You're going to have a blast. I have so much to show you there like everything in my room."

"Really? What's in your room, August?" Harry wondered curiously next.

"Everything!" The American boy nearly shouted with excitement, jumping up and down on the soles of his feet, "I want to show you my collectables, my trophies, my video games-"

"Video games? You have video games?"

"That's what I said, bud. Video games. You and I will be playing plenty of stuff on my computer and Super Nintendo when we get back to my relatives' house-"

"Oh really? Is that ALL you'll be doing today, little nephew? Just playing video games?" Mrs. Drayson suddenly cut in, sounding stern but smiling brightly all the while in good humor as she appeared with Mrs. Figgs following her, "I thought you were going to be helping me and your uncle cook dinner for your welcome home party tonight, August. And now that we'll be having Harry with us for the night, maybe he would be interested to help us prepare dinner, no?"

Harry looked at August for a moment who seemed to remember what his aunt was talking about. In turn, the American patted the English boy on the back as he brightly added to his list of things to show Harry at the Drayson abode, "Ah ha ha ha, whoops, my fault, Harry. Yeah, my aunt and uncle will be having us help them cook a dinner tonight in celebration for my coming here to England for the summer. Really, though, it's not meant for me. It's meant to help them practice for another charity of sorts."

"August Shane Cousiteau, that's not the reason at all for dinner being made tonight. Don't say such things. It's a rare moment where myself and your Uncle Daniel ever get to cook our very best. Perhaps our cooking tonight will be a kind of practice, yes. Nevertheless, it will be for your benefit. Not a charity."

"If you say so, aunt Dorothy." August replied humbly, kind of looking uncomfortable about being given so much attention if not a dinner in his honor, "But can you change the plan up a bit?"

"How would you like things changed, August?" Mrs. Drayson wondered gently.

"Don't just make the celebration dinner about me tonight. Have it about Harry too." August explained, nodding firmly at surprised Harry, "I mean, heck, I may be new to England but this will be a whole new thing for Harry to enjoy altogether. Let's make it an unforgettable experience for him, okay? Let's make sure it's one that will keep him happy, even if he's with the Dursleys again tomorrow."

"How very wonderful a nephew you have, Dorothy." Mrs. Figgs chuckled, smiling at the astonished if not glowing look on Harry's expression, "Only after a few hours together, August here has taken a shine to Harry. And I expect it's the same the other way around. Excellent."

As Harry was being ushered by Mrs. Drayson as well as August towards the front door, he didn't know what to say or think or feel. In truth, his entire mind, body and spirit were seized up in a happy kind of dreamy state where he was afraid he was going to wake up at any moment back under the stairs of the Dursleys' house and find that all he'd recently experienced had been nothing more than a dream. Yet, as the front door was opened for him, as he was led outside into the summer warmth towards a certain vehicle, he knew that this was reality.

And unlike dreams… reality had its consequences.

"Wait. Hold on." Harry suddenly said to everyone around him, feeling very worried about what was happening, "I… I don't know about this. Are you sure you want me to come to your house, Mrs. Drayson? I don't want you or Mrs. Figgs to get in trouble with the Dursleys."

"Oh, Harry, it's like I said back in the backyard." August laughed, shaking his head in amusement, "If your rotten ol' uncle and aunt have a problem with you being you then my uncle and aunt will handle them like-"

"Ahem, August, I don't want to hear you talking like that about the Dursleys." Mrs. Drayson suddenly interrupted, giving her nephew a warning look, "Perhaps the Dursleys act ill and bad tempered but you are a Cousiteau, my sister's son. You have better blood than the Dursleys in you. Thus, I will not having you putting them down. You will not stoop to their immature level, am I clear?"

"But aunt, at the dinner table in Mrs. Figgs, you ranted about the Dursleys behavior for almost a whole-"

"Am I clear, August Shane Cousiteau?"

"Yes, yes, yes, Aunt Dorothy." August grumbled back, looking quite annoyed at being told off, "I heard you. Loud and clear."

"Of course you did. Now Harry, about your relatives… I've lived across the street from them for twelve years. In turn, whether they would like to believe it or not, my husband and myself have come to know the Dursleys better than they perhaps know themselves." Mrs. Drayson explained to uncertain Harry, smiling reassuringly, "And what we Draysons know best about the Dursleys is that they value their reputations in the neighborhood more than anything. Now, if they were to get any bit annoyed at Mrs. Figgs or us Draysons for having taken the simple liberty of looking over you for the day… Well, what kind of bad image would that send to Privet Drive?"

"Not a very good one, I would guess?" Harry replied, not really reassured though, "But… The Dursleys… What if they…"

"If the Dursleys have any lick of sense in their heads, if they know that they're truly dealing with the Draysons, they will not at all vent their frustrations on you when you go home with them tonight, Harry, dearest." Mrs. Dorothy Drayson stated, looking suddenly serious, "For if they do, you will be sure to say something to someone at some point in time. Because at this moment, my boy, you are no longer alone. You have us Draysons watching you and you have August as a friend. And since you have us looking out for you, Harry, since my August is a friend of yours, you will not be locked in the Dursley house all of this summer."

"I… won't be?"

"NO!" August exclaimed, looking devious, "You'll be spending it with me, you dummy!"

"August, watch the name calling." Mrs. Drayson stated at once, "Perhaps you mean it to sound funny but honestly-"

"No, it's quite alright, Mrs. Drayson. I understood what August meant. He's a friend. He's not my cousin, Dudley." Harry explained, smiling broadly as well as laughing with his American friend, "And a little name calling from a friend is no big deal. I've had to endure worse during the last seven years."

"Ah, you've had to deal with worse for the last… Well, ahem, I suppose that is reassuring. Still, I would appreciate it if you, August, kept the joking around like that to a minimal." Mrs. Dorothy Drayson said, ruffling up her nephew's combed back hair who yelped in indignation, "Anyway, where were we? Ah, yes, of course. Harry, Mrs. Figgs and myself have worked out a reason for why you are coming with me today. And that reason is this; she just wasn't in the mood to handle you today when there were more willing people to take over."

"Because you know me, Harry, dear." Mrs. Figgs cackled in a supposedly evil way, not at all meaning what she was saying but making everyone laugh in turn, "I just cannot stand the kids these days. What with your hair styles and your choice in clothes. You're scaring away all of my cats with your rebellious nature. Go on. Go over to the Draysons and tear up their day."

Harry suddenly had to hug Mrs. Figgs tightly. Why? He'd suddenly realized that half of the reason for why he was even being given a chance to have a good day today was thanks to good hearted Mrs. Arabella Figgs having the courage to let him go do what he wanted to do, even though the Dursleys would be sure to not trust her the same way ever again after today. Yet, what was loyalty from the Dursleys anyway? Nothing but false smiles while daggers were being readied to stab anyone in the back at any given time.

"Thank you, Mrs. Figgs." Harry sincerely said, smiling for the first time in a long time, "Thanks for this."

"Oh, Harry, dearest. Why should you be locked up here with little meager me when your cousin is in town having a ball about his ninth birthday?" Mrs. Figgs happily replied, patting Harry on the back as he hugged her tightly, "Your entire life can't be about what the Dursleys want. Now that you have August as a friend, no that the Draysons want to meet you, who am I to say no to you going where you'll have a better time than here? If I were to keep you here with me why I would never forgive myself."

"You shouldn't talk about yourself like this, Mrs. Figgs. I've never really had a bad time here." Harry insisted, trying to keep the elderly woman in his embrace content, "It's always been an adventure. More so than any time I've had in the Dursleys."

"Indeed. I'm sure my place was almost heaven compared to your relatives' own." Mrs. Figgs admitted, laughing aloud, "But alas, Harry, I've always seen it in your eyes during your visits here. My house, my cats, my help have only done so much for you up to this point. You are an eight year old. You belong outside. You need to live, to have a good time. You can't be cooped up your whole life. And now with the help of Mr. and Mrs. Drayson, with the help of August… you won't be cooped up so much anymore, Harry. You're going to be having good times soon enough."

"That's true." Mrs. Drayson added, having Harry step away from Mrs. Figgs so they could get into a nearby car with August, "That's very true, Harry. With me, with my husband, with August, this summer is going to be very different for you. It's going to be fun for a change. Just you wait and see."

"Yeah, Harry!" August laughed aloud, smiling happily once he as well as Harry had taken their seats in the back, "This summer is going to be the best for the both of us. If there's anything my aunt and uncle can do… It's have a good time!"

Harry believed it. Having gotten over the fact that all of this that was happening to hm wasn't just a dream, that it was reality, he was coming to believe everything he was being told by his newest friends. Still, as Mrs. Drayson started up the vehicle and began to back out into the street, Harry had to wave one last thank you to the one person who was letting him go to begin to have a good rest of the summer; Mrs. Arabella Figgs. And as for Mrs. Figgs, as she waved back at Harry, as she watched him be driven back towards Privet Drive in the company of new friends, she truly had no regrets about her actions.

For a moment after Mrs. Drayson's car had vanished around the corner up the street, Mrs. Arabella Figgs stood out on the front lawn without saying or doing anything. Her smile over Harry's possibly bright future had faded from her expression to be replaced by a deeply thoughtful grimace instead. Her eyes had also adopted a thoughtful twinkle in them too. In general, standing still outdoors, it was like she'd been frozen stiff with thoughts after Harry's departure. She was only unfrozen from what she was thinking about when one of her cats – Snowy, a large, snow white tabby with the greenest eyes – emerged from the nearest brush and meowed at her side.

"Snowy, you little sneak." Mrs., Figgs chuckled, picking up her feline who purred in her arms, "You were listening to everything I had to say to Harry, weren't you?"

"Meow." Was Snowy's knowing reply, acting as if he'd really understood his owner.

"Hmf. Well, about what I had to say to Harry… About letting him go his own way with those muggles just now… I know that doing so was dangerous but… Harry looked so very happy today for a change." Mrs. Figgs said aloud, walking back towards the front door of her house, "Still, what I've done wasn't to plan. I don't deny that it may prove to be a bit dangerous. However, if he's going to become anything like his mother and father someday, Harry can't wait to rejoin his proper world to make friends. He needs one now. He needs one to keep his spirits lifted."

"Mreow?"

"No, this is a good thing. It may be for only another year but Harry can't be isolated like this anymore. He cannot be made to wait around to make friends. He had an opportunity to make one here, in the muggle world. And so, I let him take that opportunity. But with the way I know everyone will see it when they found out, it will look bad that he went to the Draysons today. It will look bad that he's made a friend in this August character… How, though? How could it be bad for a child like Harry to grow close with someone like August or his relatives?"

"Meow."

"Yes, yes, yes. Muggles are muggles and my kind are my kind. Never has much good come from them intermingling in the past. Yet, Snowy, I feel like… this experience between a muggle and a wizard will be different. I feel that despite their differences, Harry will not regret the day he met August and August will not rue the day he gained Harry as a friend."

"Mreow."

"Hmf, what am I talking to you for? Where are your arguments apart for meowing?" Mrs. Figgs wondered sternly, eyeing the large white cat purring in her embrace as she stepped inside of her home, "No matter what I think I know about them, I can't keep this meeting between Harry and August to myself. I have to write to Dumbledore and let him know what I've let transpire, despite my orders. Then again, what good would writing to him do? Knowing Albus, he more than likely knows already what I've let happen today."

"Meow."

"Alright, alright, that's enough out of you. I'm getting you some food, hold on. However, I'll do that after I've sent an owl to _Dumbledore_. Whether he knows of today or not already, it's been my duty for the last seven years to alert him of what the Potter boy is going through day in and day out."


End file.
